


Late Shift

by littlemisscurious



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, NSFW, One Shot, Professor Tom, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 01:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemisscurious/pseuds/littlemisscurious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Feel free to visit my tumblr page http://w-is-for-writing.tumblr.com to find out more about my stories, my characters, and everything else you might be interested in :)</p></blockquote>





	Late Shift

_“Excuse me, Sir, may I help you?” I smile at the young man, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, who is standing in front of the campus map looking rather lost. Swiftly, he turns around, his ginger curls glowing golden in the early morning sun. “Um, yes...yes, that would be lovely,” he nods a little shyly. “I’m looking for the English Department actually,” he adds and I smile at his posh-sounding London accent._

_“What a coincidence, that’s exactly where I’m headed,” I wink and he chuckles. “I hope it really is because I don’t wish to cause you any trouble.” As he smiles at me, he shows a row of perfectly white teeth and little dimples appear on his cheeks while tiny wrinkles form on the outer sides of his eyes._

_“No, don’t worry, I really have to go there,” I grin and we set off towards the old building on the far edge of the campus which houses the Department for English_ _and American Studies._

 

Sitting here at my desk staring at the illuminated building of Potsdam’s New Palace in the distance, I can hardly believe that two years have passed since I met him first. It had taken us another twenty minutes that day to realise that he was indeed the new lecturer I had been assigned to while writing my dissertation.

When I first learned of my old tutor, Prof Dr Lewisham, leaving, I was pretty sad as he had been the one who had helped me and motivated me in the end to consider doing my Ph.D. and I was a little worried to meet his successor for fear we might not get along.

‘Not getting along’, however, is not the phrase coming to my mind when thinking of the relationship I have with his successor, Dr Hiddleston. ‘Getting along a little too well to merely be called colleagues’ might be more befitting, after all, but of course we keep that as our little secret.

 

Tearing my gaze away from the old, ceiling-high window, I turn towards the library door hidden from my view by a row of shelves. His heavy footsteps on the old, creaking, worn-out wooden planks give him away and the sound reminds me of the squeaking of the desk in his office on which I had lain the other day.

“You shouldn’t be working that late anymore,” he mumbles as he steps behind me, his hands with the long, slender fingers resting gently on my shoulders. I close my eyes for a moment, relishing his touch, before my attention flies back to the books and pencils and papers full of notes in front of me. “I’ve got to finish this...and I prefer working in the evening when everybody else has gone home,” I reply quietly before adding,

“Why are you still here?” He bends down, breathing a kiss onto my shoulder right next to the thin strap of my summer dress. “I had to finish marking some essays,” he whispers against my ear before letting his tongue glide along the outer shell, giving me goosebumps.

I nod, fumbling with my ‘Canterbury’ pencil to keep myself focused on my work rather than his caresses. I can’t always give into him.

 

“You’re so strung up, my dear,” he keeps mumbling, leaving a trail of feathery kisses along my neck while his fingers slowly massage my shoulders. I am strung up, I know that. But this needs to be done and I cannot always let him distract me from my work.

“Tom, please,” I sigh, trying to shake his hands off but he is persistent. And deep down I know that I don’t want him to stop. I want to feel him, smell him, taste him. The possibility that somebody might find us, even though I know that on a Friday night at 11 pm nobody of our colleagues will still be here, adds even more excitement to the fact that he is, in theory, still my lecturer and tutor and we shouldn’t be having this kind of physical contact anyway.

“Please what?,” he asks and I can literally hear him smirking against my skin before he nibbles softly on my flesh, his hands now gliding down my arms, taking the straps of my bra and summer dress with them. I bite my lip before I answer, “Please let me finish this.”

 

A little hesitantly, he lets go of me and stands back up, his hands now resting on the back of the chair. “But it’s late,” he pouts, sounding like a little boy who just got told he’s not allowed to have ice cream after dinner. I sigh while I push the straps back up onto my shoulders. "It's not that late," I mumble, rearranging the pieces of paper in front of me. They don't need to be rearranged, they were perfectly organised before. But I need to focus, on my work, not on the man standing behind me who manages to turn my brain into a mushy mess whenever he steps into the same room with me, let alone touches me.

"Do you want me to go?," he asks quietly and I hesitate before, opposing my common sense, I shake my head. I can feel him walking away from me only to return with a chair of his own shortly after. He sits down next to me, his thigh brushing against mine while he studies my notes.

"Is there any way I can help?," he whispers and again I shake my head. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes, tears of anger and frustration as I fall, once again, into panic-mode, doubting myself, my abilities in every possible way.

 

Gently, he pushes my hair out of my face as he hears me snivel. "Hey...hey, what's wrong?" I can hear honest concern in his voice and I don't try to resist as he pulls me into an embrace, his arms slung around me, lips pressing soft kisses onto my hair. "I can't do this," I sob. "My research is crap, my writing is crap. It doesn't make any sense! I’m never going to get my Ph.D.!"  
“That’s not true, you know that!,” he replies, his soft, velvety voice vibrating through my body. “You are so clever and good and your topic is excellent and I bet your research has been meticulously done,” Tom adds in a low tone, his hand stroking along my side. I snivel again, wiping away some of the tears with the back of my hand.

 

Carefully extricating myself from his embrace, I fish a tissue out of my bag and try to transform my snotty nose and watery eyes into something a little more presentable. “You have no reason whatsoever to doubt yourself, do you hear me?,” he mumbles again and I look at him, feeling miserable. The gentle and loving smile on his lips makes me relax a little and he gently wipes a few strands of hair out of my face before his hand remains on my cheek. I lean into his touch a little, closing my eyes, trying to forget about my worries and fears.

I can feel his hot breath on my skin as he leans closer to press his lips firmly against mine as if he hopes to take away my self-doubt that way. And maybe it helps. Though maybe it’s only wishful thinking when we pretend that we can simply kiss and love all struggles away.

 

Standing up, he pulls me with him, lifting me onto the desk and stepping between my parted legs. Our kisses are hungry, passionate, almost desperate as tongue challenges tongue, teeth bite lip, and breath mingles with breath.

Soon, we are a tangled mess of limbs. Burying one of my hands in his curls, I desperately try to unbutton his shirt with the other. Further down, his hands are pushing up my dress, leaving a hot tingling trail up my stockinged thighs. I wrap my legs around him, heels digging into the back of his thighs while I try to pull him as close to me as possible.

***

I look at him, breathing heavily as I try not to get lost in his sparkling blue eyes. His shirt and trousers are lying on the dark, old wooden floor together with my summer dress, leaving him in boxers and me in bra, panties, and stockings.

Without taking my eyes off him, I unhook my bra and let it slide off my shoulders before dropping it onto the floor. I keep watching him as I let my fingertips run over my ample breasts before circling my nipples, sighing with pleasure. I bite my lip, smirking, as one of his hands moves down into his boxers. He loves watching me touch myself and I just as much love doing it for him.

I lean back a little, keeping my balance by propping myself up on the desk with one hand while the other caresses my breasts further. I can hear him moan quietly accompanied by the shuffling of fabric from his boxers.

“A helping hand might be nice,” I whisper, looking at him with hooded eyes as my fingertips glide softly around my hardened nipple. I close my eyes with a satisfied moan as he takes it into his mouth, tongue circling around it swiftly while he strokes, squeezes, and teases the other one.

 

I let my hand glide slowly down his arm, the movements of his hand becoming quicker with every passing moment, with every flick of his tongue. With one swift move his boxers are now pooling around his ankles and without having to ask, he lets me replace his hand with mine before I finish him off with a couple of intense strokes.

Raising my hand to my mouth, I lick his juice off my fingers while his eyes rest on me, his chest heaving with every panted breath he takes. “You’ll be the death of me one day,” he breathes before kissing me hungrily, his hands already tugging on the waistband of my panties and I help him oh so gladly to get rid of them.

A moan of pleasure fills the silence in the library as he parts my wet folds and enters me with the tip of his finger only to pull it out again straightaway. I look at him pleadingly and bite my lip as he sinks down onto his knees in front of me, his blond, gingery curls now positioned between my thighs, bobbing up and down and back and forth as his tongue sends me to Valhalla and beyond.

***

“Come home with me tonight,” he pants into our kiss, his hands gripping onto my thighs as he pulls me closer to the edge of the desk, his member, proud and erect, situated at my entrance. Trying to control my breathing, I hold onto him, fingernails digging into his back. “Can we talk about that later?,” I ask, wrapping my legs around his hips, heels digging into his beautifully sculpted backside. “Of course, sorry,” he chuckles before his lips find mine again while he enters me slowly.

I moan into our kiss as he fills me gradually. After all this time I’m still not used to his size and he manages to take my breath away again and again. He is gentle, though, and takes his time, allowing me to adjust to him before he starts moving back and forth, the desk underneath me creaking with every move he makes.

 

For a while it’s just the sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with our moans and sighs, and the squeaking of the old, wooden desk that fills the empty library all the way up to the ceiling. His face is buried in the crook of my neck, his hot breath dampening my skin underneath while his thrusts become more and more urgent, more desperate to satisfy us both.

I bite my bottom lip as he spreads my legs further, thrusting deeper and deeper, hitting exactly the spot that drives me over the edge eventually. “I’m so close,” he whispers and I let my hand glide through his hair. “Don’t hold back,” I breathe into his ear, the sensation of my impending climax almost taking my breath away.

Seated deep within me, he finally comes undone, his seed spilling into me, while he lets out a satisfied moan of pleasure. His thumb now circling my clit provides the last stimulation I needed before my orgasm takes over, my walls clenching around him, prolonging his climax until we both collapse on the desk, panting and relieved.

 

“I begin to like these late-night library sessions of yours,” he mumbles into my ear with a smirk while pulling out of me, making me feel empty and longing for him. “Oh me too,” I grin, my legs still resting around his hips. “But I suppose your bed might be more comfortable,” I add in a whisper, gently nibbling on his earlobe while he holds me in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to visit my tumblr page http://w-is-for-writing.tumblr.com to find out more about my stories, my characters, and everything else you might be interested in :)


End file.
